


Brad's Eternal Happiness in Three Easy Steps, by Ray Person

by Alethia



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Derogatory Language, Explicit Language, F/M, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Post-Canon, Snark, rated for language, seriously, so much offensive language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-10
Updated: 2011-08-10
Packaged: 2018-03-12 21:36:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3356129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray knows best. No, seriously, don't argue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brad's Eternal Happiness in Three Easy Steps, by Ray Person

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on the fictionalized characters in the HBO miniseries, _Generation Kill_ , as written by Ed Burns and David Simon and as portrayed by Alexander Skarsgard, Stark Sands, and others. It is a work of fiction, ergo it never happened.
> 
> Epic thanks to [](http://ricochet.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**ricochet**](http://ricochet.dreamwidth.org/) for her ever insightful beta. All mistakes are my own. Originally posted on [LJ](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/515091.html).

Step One: Find Back-up (the more unexpected the better)

It should be someone Brad respected...or at least didn't want to light up. This was important; Brad was a stubborn motherfucker, so a straightforward, direct assault wasn't gonna work. The fucker would just dig in.

For shock value Trombley was the Prime, Grade-A choice. And Brad did hold that misguided belief Whopper Junior would make a good Marine someday. But then, Trombley'd probably shoot someone—not himself—and that'd be A Bad Thing.

Ray would totally rope in the LT for that shit...but it'd kind of give the game away. 

So, really, it _had_ to be Poke. 

***

"Hello, Mrs. Espera. It's nice to see you again."

Tony knew that voice. That voice should not be speaking complete sentences, respectful tone and all.

"'Mrs. Espera?' That's what you're going with?" Gabi asked, unimpressed. 

"I got this, baby," Tony said, hurrying over and shooting Gabi an innocent smile. Her look said she wasn't buying, but she left without protest. Then Tony turned to Ray. "Yo, dog, whiskey tango motherfuckers should not be speaking all proper-like to my wife. It makes me cry a little inside to see you turn your back on your heritage like that."

Ray actually looked relieved. "Thank fucking Christ. Do you know how much trouble it is not to say 'fuck?' I mean, it's the most versatile word in the English language, so no no, let's not use it in _polite company_." 

"Yeah, yeah, one more way the Man's getting you down. What's a white boy doin' on my doorstep?"

"Dude, you realize you don't, like, have a doorstep, right? I mean, there's this mat thing here, but I don't think that counts."

Tony glared at him and opened the door wider. "Get in here. You're ruining the thin veneer of respectability we brown people have gained by abandoning our towns and denying our roots."

Ray smirked and sauntered in. "Don't front, Poke. You know I class up this joint."

Tony shut the door behind him. "Sister-fucking hick white folks don't class up shit. Now, why am I being inflicted with your pimply ass while on my well-deserved leave?"

"So check this. The Iceman almost took an impromptu dunk off a Zodiac last night. Do you know how many calls, texts, emails, fucking _carrier pigeons_ I got? Think Rudy even tried smoke signals, but who knows what that motherfucker was trying to say."

"No, that was you smokin' a bowl."

Ray flapped his hand like it meant something. "They weren't even mocking his boot slip-up like they fucking well should. I'm talkin' a once-a-decade opportunity here and they're giving me nothing but sharing circle-style _concern_. That is not on, dog. If Brad insists on bein' all wimpy, weak-ass bottom-boy and won't, like, fix the LT, then you and me? We gotta fix 'em both."

Tony crossed his arms across his chest and leveled Person with a look. "I'm sure I've got no idea what you're going on about."

At that he got an eyeroll for the ages. "Let's dispense with the selective vision and agree that we go against the regs every fuckin' mission and, despite all Mr. Potato Head's bleating, the Corps wants it that way. We wouldn't be motherfucking warriors who _own_ that shit if we weren't independent operators. So I say we ignore the bureaucratic bullshit like it so rightfully deserves and fucking fix our guys."

"Warrior—what kinda warrior are you?" Tony mocked, yanking Ray's chain just 'cause he could. 

Gabi shuffling through legal briefs while descending the stairs distracted him. Tony took a moment to appreciate the extra fine way her legs looked in those heels—

"Nice suit, Mrs. Espera," Ray called.

Tony turned back to Ray, askance that he would go there with his wife.

Gabi scoffed at Ray. "I read articles just as well as the next highly-educated, highly-paid lawyer, Ray. You can drop the earnest act any time you like."

"Poke always says you're the brains of the operation. And obviously the hotness, too, so what the fuck are you doin' with him?"

She smirked at Ray, then turned it on Tony—and it was not fucking _on_ to be doing that to him when she was leaving and he couldn't carry her back to the bedroom as was only right.

Gabi straightened his shirt, touching him for no reason, and now he _knew_ she was deliberately fucking with him. 

His wife was evil. And nine kinds of criminally sexy. It wasn't fair to his war-torn psyche. 

He'd tell her later. 

"I've got to get to the Biderman depo. Do not forget your children," Gabi reminded. 

"Baby, it was one time—"

"For which I am obligated to mock you eternally," she said with a grin. Tony leaned in for a peck, only she turned it into a real kiss, hands snaking around his neck. He made a pleased sound against her mouth, despite knowing it was nothing but a tease. She broke away with a regretful smile. "God, I hate Biderman. Always feel like I need a shower after seeing him."

"I can help with that."

She grinned and kissed him again, swiping her thumb at his bottom lip. Lipstick, probably. Fuck, she could mess him up all she wanted. At her nudge Tony released her waist, but it took some effort. 

"Try not to get into any trouble, boys," she said as she moved toward the door, checking her bag and then her hair in the mirror. If only he'd had the chance to mess up her hair, damn.

The click of the closing door brought him out of that thought. 

"Dude, your wife's hot. How the fuck'd you get her to marry you again?" Ray was still watching the door like he could see her ass through the wood.

"I mesmerized her with my dick." 

"Yeah, I heard you people have that power."

Tony casually flipped him off. "Fine, Person. In the interests of ridding myself of this infestation," he gestured to Ray's presence, "This house is a UCMJ-free zone. So what, I'm supposed to concern myself with my white masters' dicks now? It's not enough that I protect their lands and inflict their oppression on the rest of the world, I gotta make sure they're getting enough money shots, too?"

Ray scoffed and kicked off his shoes, like he was setting up shop in Tony's house. Tony would gladly disabuse Ray of such a thought. 

"Oh, whatever. You're just another of these fucking minorities bitching about your fucking oppression while enjoying the fruits of your oppressors' efforts. If you really cared about WASPy patriarchy dicking over dirty spic-dom, you wouldn't be a fucking cog in his military machine. In fact, you'd move to Peru and take up some kind of fucking root farming. You wouldn't even speak Spanish, you hypocritical dickwad. So stow the poor-me-bullshit and let's focus here."

***

Step Two: Generate a Strategy. 

Brad was so far up the LT's ass—not literally, alas—he probably wouldn't be expecting an ambush, but underestimating the Iceman was a good way to get yourself dead. So it needed to be something both surprising and elegant. 

Thankfully, Ray was the _master_ of unconventional thought. 

Pot, man. It freed your mind. 

***

"I say we keep it simple and just lock 'em in a closet together," Ray proclaimed, nodding like this was on par with Napoleon's battle plan and kicking his socked feet up on Tony's furniture. 

Gonna have to sanitize the whole room at this rate. Gabi'd be thrilled. 

"Lock them in a closet. This is your plan?"

"What? Those prissy cerebral shitheads will appreciate the irony."

"Given the brilliance on display—" At that he kicked Ray's feet off the coffee table—"I'm back to calling bullshit on the strategic objective."

Ray let his legs flop open and Tony'd never be able to unsee that shit, dammit. Thankfully Ray immediately scrambled up, squawking like a little bitch. "The fuck you will. Even in theater they were carrying out their gay-ass mating dance, all bringing each other presents and shit. A stop sign here, some gun lube there. That shit wasn't homoerotic; that shit was _gay_."

"Dog, I know you filibustered your way into Recon—only way they'd take your pasty ass—but you didn't kill nobody over there. Ever think maybe Brad is dealing with some shit?" Tony ran his hand over his mouth at the thought, hearing Father Guzman's influence in the words. 

"Brad isn't dealing with shit. Now, the LT, he's a different story. Brad's reacting to the LT dealing with shit. You know him as well as me; you know I'm right."

Tony had to admit that Ray had a point. Not _to_ Ray, of course, no sense in encouraging him. But Brad had never been so distracted and the LT was its source. Hell, Tony had raised an eyebrow at Mike over the whole mess and had only gotten the 'not talking about it' brush-off in return.

"Fucking Mike," Tony muttered. "Should've schooled this shit as soon as we landed."

"Welcome to the party, homes. Mike's strategy of 'personal space to deal with personal shit' ain't gonna cut it. Nah, man. It's you and me who'll have to snap Brad out of this pissy fuckin' mood. Plus we should probably make sure the LT doesn't kill himself zig-zagging his plastic, Tonka-toy truck down the fuckin' five freeway." 

"Yeah, yeah, always cleaning up the white man's mess, it's my secondary MOS. All right. I know what to do. But first I'm getting my girls and you need to get supplies." 

***

Step Three: Implement the Plan.

Poke would cover the LT and Ray had Brad, which was all kinds of fine 'cause the LT could be a frigid, frightening motherfucker when he wanted to, whereas Brad only thought he was. 

The plan allowed for maximum flexibility within specific constraints. Granted, it didn't so much call for Ray showing up at Brad's place an hour early, but whatever. He was habituated to hurry-up-and-wait. He could make do. 

***

After settling the girls, Tony had looked everywhere—the LT's house, his favorite white-boy carb-loading restaurant, his morning run route...and the fact that he knew of all those places made him cringe at how gay-for-the-LT even _he_ appeared. 

It wasn't that Tony doubted Ray's point. No use there—the eyefucking was too rabid for that. It was just that Ray might've gotten ahead of himself here. Wouldn't be the first time. The dumbass was too smart for his own good.

If Brad side-eyed them for this, Ray was taking the fall. Tony would not go down for any of these dicksucks. He still had a week of leave left and a wife to fuck and no way he was missing out on that. 

After checking all the usual haunts, he swung by Brad's place to give Ray the bad news. Maybe they could put a tracker on the LT or something, make sure next time he couldn't foil their plan with this stealth, me-time bullshit. 

He carefully navigated the narrow, winding streets of Brad's neighborhood, cursing the man again for having to live so close to the beach. Fucking traffic. 

When Tony reached Brad's street, he was lucky enough to snag a spot a house down from Brad's. He idled the car, pleased at the way his baby purred at him. Gabi took good care of his car in his absence; she deserved something extra special.

Ray appeared at his open window, leaning down into it and putting his hands on Tony's car. The sunlight made him squint. 

"Looking for the LT?" Ray asked, grimacing for some reason. 

"No dice, bro. Boy fucking vanished. Musta learned something at BRC."

"Yeah, not so much. He's currently blowing Brad up against the side of his house," Ray said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder like he couldn't quite square the thought himself. 

Tony raised a staying hand. "Not looking. I don't need that in my brain." Then he laughed. "Guess they don't need you going all mother hen on them after all."

Ray looked genuinely perplexed, like he couldn't imagine how they sorted themselves out on their own, so Tony grudgingly went against his nature. "Come on, bro, why the shock? It was probably inevitable," he mused. "Born on opposite sides of the country, different religions, different cultures, and they still live on the same wavelength. It was always gonna end up this way. Just goes to show, white man's hegemony is hard-wired into your brains." 

"Whatever, dog. I'm just bitter I won't get to take credit for that shit." He thought a beat. "And you do realize no one knows what the fuck hegemony is, right?"

Tony laughed again. No one but him and Person, anyway. 

"So what the fuck do I do with all this?" Ray asked, holding up the bag of supplies.

Tony shook his head sadly. "How you can function in the real world without someone holding your dick for you, I'll never know. Think, bro: why else would you white boys invent mailboxes? So you don't actually have to face each other."

"Right, new objective: remind them public sex is a no-go, no matter how far off the base you are. I think I need to bleach my brain," Ray grumbled, rubbing at his eyes. 

"Yeah, keep repeating that. Go cry about it to Hasser."

Ray screeched satisfyingly and Tony grinned, revving his car's engine. 

He couldn't resist a parting shot: "When all the shit dies down, you know I'm gonna tell Brad you called him bottom-boy, right?"

Ray shrugged, supremely unconcerned. "He'll be too busy using the LT's ass to care what the fuck I called him."

Tony chuckled. "So you think, dog. So you think. Now, get your come-stained fingers off my baby. I gotta wife at home to eat out."

Ray gave him the finger as he peeled out, his laughter whipped away by the breeze. 

***

Step Four: After-Action That Shit. 

Aw, _fuck_ no. Ray got enough of that from the Corps. He'd take his victories where he could and peace the fuck out. 

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


End file.
